Drowning the Sorrow
by Ephemerale
Summary: Drowning in her sorrow after the betrayals and pain of Malachor V, the exile finds a lifeline in the arms of a not-so-cocky scoundrel. 7th in the LSFexile/Atton Moments Series.


The exile sighed listlessly, staring out the window of the cockpit. The pilot's seat, usually occupied by a handsome smuggler, sat empty; Atton was still recovering in the medbay, his wounds slowly healing with the aid of Kolto and the Force to thin white scars while he acclimated himself to the mechanical hand that Bao-Dur had built for him. Allia buried her head in her hands when the image of Atton's broken, bloody body in the rubble of Malachor V rose up in her mind's eye to haunt her.

He'd been delirious when she had found him, muttering incoherent, meaningless words as his lifeblood oozed out onto the floor of a place riddled with darkness. She had cried as she'd healed him, her tears mingling with his sweat and blood, and he had whispered how he had never wanted her to see how ugly he truly was. But he had never been ugly to her, not on Nar Shadaa when he had shamefully admitted his past, and not as he lay dying, his face clammy and pale, his body mangled beyond recognition. She had loved him, and so she had always found him beautiful, even when she had learned his darkest secrets and seen had seen him at his worst.

The exile let out a shuddering sigh, wiping traitorous tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. The ring that Atton had given to her not too long ago scraped across her face in the process, and she looked down at her hand with watery eyes. Atton had handed it to her nonchalantly when he had given it to her, had told her that he'd won it in a hand of Pazaak and that he had no use for it. But despite the nonchalance in his features and bearing, Allia had been able to sense an undercurrent of anxiety, a hidden desire to please. It was a small thing, relatively worthless, just a tiny blue stone on a slim silver band, but it meant more to her than she would ever be able to express. She hadn't taken it off since the day that he had casually dropped it into her palm.

"Credit for your thoughts?"

The voice made Allia jump, and she flushed in shame that she had been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she hadn't been able to sense the intruder. She glanced over her shoulder and her heart stopped when she saw Atton leaning against the door frame, looking pale and thin and haggard, but infinitely better than the last time she had seen him lying on the cot in the medbay.

"Atton," she breathed, and checked the urge to rush into his arms and bury her head into that comforting place where his neck connected with his shoulder. He swayed a little on his feet as he tossed her a crooked grin, and this time Allia did jump to her feet and hurry to his side. She quickly took his weight onto her shoulder, supporting him, easing him over to the pilot's chair. His feet dragged a little as he walked, and he leaned his cheek against the top of her head.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Allia demanded as she helped him to sit, and quickly ran her hands over him, feeling with the Force to ensure that he hadn't undone any of the work that Mical had so painstakingly undertaken to knit his broken body back together.

His hands were suddenly clasped around her wrists, one warm and weak, the other with the hard strength of a machine. He had put a glove over his mechanical hand to hide it, but she could still feel the difference by the temperature and strength of the grip. "Stop fussing, Sweets," he muttered gruffly, and Allia swallowed hard as she nodded her head and stilled her hands. "I just needed to get the frack out of that room," he grumbled, and despite herself, Allia laughed. The sound of it was odd somehow, strange in this ship that hadn't heard any laughter since Malachor V. But Atton's lips quirked upwards at the sound, and Allia suddenly felt the mood of the room subtly shift and lighten at the appearance of his smile.

Atton's glanced down at their joined hands and his smile widened slightly when he caught sight of the ring on her finger, and then fell off his face entirely when his gaze landed on his own gloved, mechanical hand. His mouth twisted bitterly, and he dropped Allia's hands quickly before he turned his gaze to look out the window into hyperspace.

"Atton," Allia whispered softly, gently resting her fingertips against his cheek as she attempted to turn his face back to her, but he flinched away from her touch.

Allia drew back softly with a sad sigh, and sat back down in the co-pilot's chair, doing her best to keep her tears at bay. She heard some shifting, a sigh, and then the distinct sound of a lock unlatching and the soft thud of a lid being shut, but she pointedly kept her gaze trained out the window, wrapped up in her own misery and confusion.

"Ali?" Atton murmured softly from across the room, and Allia took a moment to compose herself before she turned back around to look at him, the sheen of unshed tears still fresh in her eyes. If he noticed her emotions, he said nothing, merely held up what was clearly a bottle of Corellian whiskey. Allia bit her lip as she stared at the bottle, the amber liquid sloshing invitingly against the glass.

"You shouldn't be drinking," she managed to reply, trampling on the temptation to drown away her sorrows.

Atton merely shrugged his shoulders in response. "Since when do I ever do what I'm supposed to?" he replied. "Besides, you look like you could do with some forgetting. I sure as hell need to," he replied, and Allia stared at him for another moment, her Jedi training ordering her to walk away, the broken woman in her begging her to stay.

Finally, with a deep sigh, she crossed the room and sat on the dashboard in front of Atton's chair, and reached out her hand for the bottle. With a ghost of his lopsided smile, Atton held it out for her, and she took a deep swig of it. The liquor burned all the way down her throat, and settled halfway between her belly and her brain. Wordlessly, she passed it back to him and he too took several large gulps, the burn not seeming to faze him.

They took turns sharing sips from the bottle, Allia growing more unbalanced and lightheaded by the moment. A spell of silence had fallen over them, a spell in which her blue eyes were locked onto his dark ones, and the butterflies filled her stomach even as the alcohol made her head whirl. The spell was broken, however, when Atton gripped the bottle in his mechanical hand a little too tightly, causing the glass to shatter and the amber colored liquid to spray all over the room.

Maybe it was the liquor, maybe it was just the strain and exhaustion of the past few weeks catching up with him, but when the bottle broke, Atton bowed his head and wept. Allia sat for several moments in silence, too shocked to move. Never once in their journey, even when he had lain dying in a puddle of his own blood, had she seen the cocky smuggler-turned-Jedi cry. And now he wept openly, his shoulders shaking like a child, his hand of flesh hiding his face as he sobbed.

The sight of his misery penetrated the fog of alcohol and her own pain, and so she stepped down from the console, stumbling a little as she walked forward, and sat on his lap, her legs on either side of his hips, her belly pressed against his, and drew his head down to the crook of her neck. He gripped her tightly, desperately, his embrace so strong that it made her gasp for air even as she stroked his hair and murmured soft, comforting nothings into his ear.

And then she too began to cry, her tears dampening his hair as she sobbed about her mentor's betrayal, Kreia's predictions of her friends' futures, Bao-Dur's loss, Mical's sorrow that she was unable to return his love, and the fact that she had almost, almost, lost this man who was so firmly wrapped around her, who held such a vice grip on her heart.

And then, suddenly, his lips were on hers, theirs tears mingling even as she gasped at the sensation. He had stolen a couple of kisses over the course of their journey together, and once she had even let her emotions get the better of her and had allowed herself to be pulled into the control room, had let him ravage her mouth, and had only stopped him when he had pushed his hand inside of her Jedi robes to squeeze her breast. But such kisses had happened so rarely that the feeling of his lips moving over hers, of his tongue brushing against her own, was still new, still exciting. She could taste the Corellian liquor and the salt from his tears on his tongue, and her head swum.

This time, when he pulled her outer robe off of her shoulders, she let him. When he broke their kiss only to lick and nibble at her neck she shuddered and groaned, pressing her hips down onto his. She could feel his erection between them, and blushed with embarrassment when she thought of the first time that she had felt it and had asked him why he tucked his blaster into his pocket while they were in hyperspace and out of danger. He hissed into her ear when she ground her hips against his again, more firmly, more purposefully this time, and lifted his hips up to meet hers when she ground against him a third time.

His hands were suddenly everywhere, running down her back, squeezing her backside, palming a breast. She shuddered at his touch, and when his mechanical hand squeezed her a little too roughly, she cried out in pain. He stopped his assault on her body quickly, drawing back from her with a curse and rubbed his good hand over his face.

"Frack, Ali. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let myself… and this damn piece of machinery…" he muttered, glaring down at his offending hand, looking everywhere but at her. "I should go," he mumbled, moving to push her off of him and stand, but Allia shook her head and planted her hands on his chest.

"Stay," she murmured softly, emboldened by the Corellian whiskey, and leaned down to kiss the corner of his mouth. He started with surprise, and then froze when she lifted his mechanical hand to her lips and kissed each of the robotic fingers. "And this… This means you're alive. It means you've come back to me," she murmured softly, and then pressed the mechanical hand against her breast, placing her own hand over it and squeezing slightly to demonstrate the amount of pressure that was acceptable. "You just need a little more practice is all," she added with a slight smile, and she could see the gears in Atton's head turning as he stared up at her, mouth open, eyes narrowed with thought.

When she leaned down and kissed him again, however, her fingers fisting in his hair, her tongue probing his mouth, Atton apparently stopped thinking and instead gave himself over to his feelings, wrapping himself around her and kissing her back roughly. When he removed her belt and reached inside her tunic to cup her bare breast, Allia arched into his hand, her hips grinding down onto his again.

Atton quickly pulled her tunic up and over her head, leaving her torso bare, her nipples pebbling as he ran his fingertips across them. "Is this okay," he whispered into her ear, and Allia suddenly felt a surge of love for this man who held her, this man who had nearly given his life to save her. She nodded, and mewled when he leaned down to wrap his hot, hot mouth around her breast, taking the nipple between his teeth and tweaking the tip of it with his tongue.

He switched to the other breast, and ran his flesh fingers down over her bare belly, over the sensitive triangle of flesh at the juncture of her thighs, and down to press against the folds of flesh through her leggings. She cried out as he worked his fingers against her through the cloth, bucking her hips wildly and tugging at his hair. He let go of her nipple with a pop and glanced up to give Allia a roughish grin. "Look how wet you are," he murmured softly, lifting his fingers to show her the dampness that had seeped onto them through the fabric of her leggings.

Allia blushed crimson and averted her gaze, and Atton chuckled lightly, gently cupping her jaw and pulling her down to kiss her once more. "No need to be embarrassed, Sweets," he murmured against her lips, and then trailed his lips across her jaw and down her neck, planting hot, open mouthed kisses on her skin as he did so.

Desire clouded Allia's thoughts and so she forgot her embarrassment as he kissed his way down her body… over her collar bone, on her shoulder, the crease of her arm, the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. Unable to go any lower at his angle, Atton kissed his way back up her body, ending with a long and lingering one on her lips. Allia sighed softly against him, shifting her hips so that she was firmly pressed against his arousal once more.

"You're wearing too many clothes," she muttered softly as she pulled away, and Atton chuckled and obligingly lifted his arms in the air so that she could pull off his shirt. Almost immediately, the mood tensed, darkened, the haze of lust slowly filtering away. Her eyes filled when she saw the fresh scars that riddled his chest, and she gently traced the web of them with her fingertips, her mouth trembling.

As though suddenly realizing what she was seeing, Atton drew away from her and reached for his shirt. "Let me put that back on," he mumbled quietly, sounding ashamed, but Allia drew the shirt out of his hands and tossed it away from them before leaning down and planting her lips against one of the scars, and then another, and then another.

She traced the web of them with her lips, giving his chest an open mouthed kiss here, a little lick or a nibble there. Then she lifted her head and traced the shell of his ear with her tongue before giving it a little nip on the lobe. "I love you," she whispered softly, her heart in her throat.

Atton drew away from her, cupping her face in his hands and staring at her incredulously with his dark, dark eyes. "Oh, gods," he murmured with a groan, and pressed a searing kiss to her lips, his hands moving desperately, frantically, across her body. He peeled her leggings off of her and tossed them aside, and lightly bit down on the junction of her neck and shoulder as he pressed a finger into her slick, warm folds, while he worked the little kernel of flesh just above her opening with his thumb.

Allia cried out, her head falling backwards as she felt his fingers working on her, in her, his mechanical hand holding her hips steady to keep her from falling off of his lap. With a low growl, Atton leaned forward and kissed her exposed neck, making her gasp and writhe against him. Suddenly, she was in the air, and then her bare bottom was pressed against the cold steel of the console.

Allia opened her eyes to glance at Atton in question, but he merely gave her a crooked smile. "Trust me," he whispered, pressing on her chest so that she was lying down on the console, her legs hanging off of it. The controls pressed into her back and the cold of the steel bit against her bare flesh, but Allia nodded, and soon forgot about her discomfort as Atton's lips worked against her breasts again, and then downwards, kissing and licking and nipping down her belly, his tongue circling her belly button, before dipping lower, and lower still.

When he spread her folds with his fingers and took one long, strong lick along her slit, Allia yelped and her hips jerked against him. When he stiffened his tongue and used it to circle her clit, a place she had only vaguely explored when her desires became too great to bear, she cried out and her hips bucked of their own volition. And when he drew that sensitive little nub of flesh into his mouth and suckled on it as he slowly thrust a finger in and out of her core, Allia had to cover her mouth with a fist to strangle the scream that threatened to break forth as her hips bucked wildly against his mouth. She tangled her hands in his hair, pulling him closer to her, muttering inarticulate, pleading cries.

He pressed one hand down against her hips to keep her still, and the weight of his hand on her lower belly somehow made the pleasure that more intense as he continued suckling at that sensitive, secret spot and his fingers began to pump harder and faster in and out of her. She could feel a tingling beginning in her limbs, the fire in her lower belly growing ever hotter, so hot that it became painful and thought became impossible. Her muscles tightened, quivered, and she felt as though her body was an instrument being tuned, the strings being pulled so tight that at any moment they were bound to snap. And a searing pleasure ripped through her, her lower belly spasming as the fire within her burned white hot and consumed her, mind and soul.

When she came down from her high, her limbs felt like jelly, and she was suddenly aware of how she must look, her sweaty chest heaving up and down, her legs spread wide, her juices coating her inner thighs and dripping down onto the console. She flushed scarlet and forced herself into a sitting position, but then Atton was there right between her legs, his hips resting against the now hyper-sensitive juncture of her thighs. He ran his fingertips up through the cooling sweat on her body, pausing to linger appreciatively on her breasts and then up to comb their way through her long, tangled hair. "You're so beautiful," he murmured softly, before he leaned down to place a light, soft, gentle kiss against her lips.

Allia took in a gasping breath, still not quite back to herself yet. But then she felt his member straining against his pants, larger and harder than she had ever felt it. She licked her lips nervously and glanced up to meet his dark eyes, before flicking her gaze downwards and reaching for him. Gently, slowly, she trailed her hand over his chest and down his abdomen, and after a brief moment of hesitation, she slid her hand inside his pants and grasped him.

He was warm and moist, and she felt wetness at the tip when she brushed her thumb across it. She could hear Atton muffle a curse, and felt him drop his head into the crook of her neck, felt his hips jerk and heard his breath catch when she experimentally squeezed his shaft. "Harder," he whispered hoarsely, and Allia licked her lips and nodded, and did just that, causing him to give a low groan and thrust his hips into her hands.

She withdrew her hands from him long enough to pull his pants down around his hips, and watched with a nervous sort of amusement as he kicked off his boots and yanked his pants off of his legs. And then, inevitably, her eyes were drawn to his groin. Though she had spent many years at war with men and had seen them in various stages of undress, she had never seen one quite this naked while in this state before. Despite herself, her eyes widened and her cheeks burned.

As though sensing her discomfort, Atton took a step closer to her, and gently took her hand and placed it against his swollen member. He wrapped his hand around hers, and guided her fist up and down, demonstrating the pace and pressure that he liked. Always the quick learner and eager pupil, Allia quickly picked up on what he was trying to show her, and soon Atton was grunting against her flesh, his hips thrusting into her hands, his breath coming in hot, hard pants against her neck.

And then he quickly removed her hands from his body, pushed her backwards so that she was lying down again, and held her wrists above her head. Allia furrowed her brow in question until she felt the tip of him pressing against her entrance, and she swallowed hard, glancing up to meet Atton's steady gaze with wide eyes.

"Are you okay with this?" he whispered softly, and Allia swallowed hard before she nodded her head. Atton gently stroked her cheek with his fingertips, and then lightly cupped her face. "Are you sure? Because I don't want to do anything you're not ready for," he replied, leaning down to press a kiss to her temple.

Who was this kind, considerate man? Where had the roughish scoundrel she had known gone? Allia bit her lip, and gently ran her fingertips over his face, down his neck, and then wound them into his thick, wavy, dark hair. "I almost lost you, Atton. And when we weren't sure whether or not you'd pull through, I kept thinking that I should have acted on my feelings, that I'd lost my chance… Believe me, I'm ready," she replied, and Atton smiled at her before lightly pressing his lips against hers.

He steadied her hips with his hands, and Allia took a deep breath as she felt him push his way into her, stretching her. Years of hard living had relieved her of her maidenhead already, but she had been unprepared for just how uncomfortable the initial thrust would be. She could feel Atton stroking her face, whispering soft words of comfort as though he could sense her innermost thoughts and feelings. She swallowed hard, quickly adjusting to the new sensations. "I'm okay, I'm okay," she whispered softly, and experimentally rolled her hips against him.

He let out a strangled moan in response, and leaned down to plant a hot, wet, kiss on her neck before he withdrew himself slightly and plunged back in with a low groan. Over and over he did this, moving slow and steady, and after a short time Allia had become entirely adjusted to the sensations; the feeling of fullness was no longer uncomfortable, rather it had become heady and intoxicating. No longer capable of coherent thought, she clawed at his back, moaning with loss as he pulled out and keening with need as he slammed back into her. "Faster," she panted, delving into their force bond to show him how she was feeling, what she wanted.

She felt a surge of his desire come back to her through their bond, strengthening her own tenfold. He did as she wanted him to, moving faster, harder, ramming against a place deep within her that made her body convulse and her throat tighten and the fire in her belly to burn that much hotter. This time when she felt the tingling begin in her limbs, she knew what was coming. She anticipated the tightening of her every muscle, the sudden, exploding, white hot release that made light dance behind her eyelids and her body quiver and shake.

But this time, he continued to move within her, harder now, faster than what was absolutely comfortable. And yet somehow it increased the waves of pleasure washing over her, caused her body to build up to that high again even before it had come down from the last one. She could feel Atton's muscles shaking, and then suddenly he was pulsing inside of her, his hot release filling her body. He gave several more shaky thrusts before collapsing on top of her, his head resting on the pillow of her breasts, his chest heaving as he panted.

When their sweat had begun to cool, Atton came back to himself enough to lift her into his arms and stumble back from the console to the pilot's chair. Soft now, he slipped out of her as he moved, and Allia groaned softly at the loss of contact. She could feel Atton's low, rumbling chuckle in response to her wordless complaint as he arranged them on the pilot's chair, her back pressed against his belly, her head resting against his chest with his arms wrapped around her middle.

Too exhausted and lazy to move, Allia reached out with the force to lift her outer robe from the floor, and then arranged it over her body, suddenly cold now that the air of the cockpit was brushing against her bare, damp skin. She could feel Atton press a lazy kiss to the side of her neck and she smiled slightly before wriggling against his body to find a more comfortable position. The area between her legs burned, and she absently wondered if it was because it had been her first time or if it was a normal side effect of such activities.

They were silent for a long time, breathing each other in, tracing lazy patterns over the flesh of one another's bodies as they stared out the cockpit window into hyperspace. A feeling of heady contentment settled over Allia, and the corners of her lips quirked upwards when Atton lightly kissed her temple.

"I love you too, you know," Atton murmured softly against her flesh, and Allia smiled and gently squeezed his forearm.

"I know," she replied, closing her eyes and letting out a deep, contented sigh, secure in his embrace.

"I'm sorry about the old witch. I know you liked her…even if you were the only one." Atton added, and Allia turned to face him with a scowl.

"You shouldn't say things like that about the dead!" She muttered, poking him in the chest and making him wince. Allia bit her lip at his expression, and quickly reached through their force bond to ascertain his feelings. Just before he slammed the walls down around his mind by counting Pazaak cards, she caught a glimpse of pain and bone weariness.

"Frack, Atton… you weren't up to this… We just set your progress back by at least a couple of days," Allia said, her eyes flying open and a sick feeling beginning to wind its way around her stomach. She ran her hands over his body, feeling close to panic, using the force to repair some of the damage done and attempting to speed his recovery, but stopped when he caught her wrists in his grip and shook his head.

"I don't care if we just set my progress back by _months_. I've wanted to do that since Peragus," he replied with his trademark crooked grin. "For months I've been waiting to see what was under that ridiculous republic issue underwear you were wearing on the day we met. Getting the chance was worth every minute of the scolding Blondie is going to give me later," he added, and Allia flushed.

"Same old scoundrel," she muttered under her breath, but nevertheless her racing heart slowed and the sick feeling began to ebb. Atton's grin widened as he leaned forward so that his face was only a breath away from her own.

"You know you love me," he replied with a grin, and dropped his gaze down to her lips.

"Aren't you lucky," she retorted with a smile of her own, and then he was kissing her again, softly, slowly, assuring her that while a scoundrel he may be, he would always be hers. Allia relaxed in his arms when they drew apart, and he planted a soft, tired kiss against her shoulder as his breath began to deepen and then even out.

And while beginning to drift off to sleep in the cockpit of a beaten old ship, lit only by the glow of hyperspace, wrapped in a scoundrel's arms, the exile learned that it was possible to drown the sorrow she had felt since Malachor V after all.


End file.
